


choking on a miracle

by Joiedevivre



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, It's not consent if you feel there is no choice, M/M, Non-Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joiedevivre/pseuds/Joiedevivre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was adrift, afloat and lost in a sea of uncertainty, and Jax was the life buoy that got him out, the only thing to latch ahold of that would keep him from drowning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	choking on a miracle

**Author's Note:**

> This is the darkest fic I've ever written. The idea came out of events that did happen on the show (Jax is predatory as fuck), but I think I took it an unintended direction.

At first, it wasn't anything. At first, it was just the desperation, the skittering, panicky feeling that left him feeling literally smothered and he would sometimes feel like he was choking from the fear. Knowing Jax knew, knowing it was only a matter of time, knowing there was no way out, what could he do? There was nothing to be done. No family to go to, where would he run? He couldn't even imagine running. What he'd done was unforgivable, and when he first spoke with Jax about it, the sick feeling turning in his stomach made him ill with fear, the rollicking, twisting nightmare, visions of humiliation and anger and finally agony, as he knew what the club would do to him. 

And unexpectedly, Jax of all people gave him a way out. It was the simplest thing in the world, all he had to was follow Jax's every lead. It was almost a relief, in a way. Let Jax make the decisions. Take all the weight, the pressure, take it all off, because Jax has got this. He's in charge. Just do what Jax says and everything will be all right. 

He was adrift, afloat and lost in a sea of uncertainty, and Jax was the life buoy that got him out, the only thing to latch ahold of that would keep him from drowning.

It didn't matter how dirty it felt, and it wasn't even that bad. Especially at first. He didn't like turning on Clay, but he did what he had to do. He didn't want to kill a woman, but Jax gave him that slow nod and the orders were clear. Jax was in charge. So he did. The next time, it wasn't a woman, but a man, and it was a little easier to swallow. The third time it was a man again, and it was easier still. He shuttered his mind closed, walled off the emotion, and he did it all, expressionless and weightless. 

He doesn't know how Jax did it, honestly, this many months later, because no one thought he could. Maybe Jax is just blessed like that, with some divine gift from the gods. Maybe it's a gift from Satan himself, this peculiar ability to flip a situation when all appears lost. Somehow they still all stand, alive and breathing to fuck up another day. Except Clay, of course. 

Pope's men finally got to him, on the inside. 

And the woman he'd killed, she's not here, she's not standing or breathing. The guy after that, well he'd been a piece of shit, Juice remembers each of his crimes and knows at the very least, that kill was justified. 

The third man. A cop. Wrong place, wrong time. 

That's when the hitch of breath comes, the twitching bit of guilt that knocks ever so softly on his conscience, and he pushes it down.

The kiss. He remembers each and every soft and far too meaningful kiss that Jax had placed on him, after every job, every errand he ran, every kill he completed, Jax's hand would wrap, domineering, around the side of his neck, and he would kiss him, brotherly. Job well done. Live another day. Because it wasn't only the kills, there were a thousand and one other little things that he'd done, running behind his other brothers' backs, cleaning up messes and laying down plans. 

The first time the kiss lingered, he'd barely noticed, and the second time too. The third time, he'd gotten this sense that something was different, and he'd let his eyes flick upward for just the barest of moments. Jax's eyes had been flinty, darker than usual, a harder look. 

Jax had started waiting. Saving his thank yous and the half hugs and the brotherly kisses, leaving it undone until the others had left, and then he'd move to Juice, in the silence of the room when everything seemed so much louder, echoing, to put that hold around him. Good job, Juicy. You're doing great. The hugs slowly became Jax trailing his hand down the skin of Juice's arm. The kiss and the thank you, always came together, but the words became heavy with another, unspoken meaning. Each time it was always the same, until it wasn't, until that day when instead of the single hand, half clasping at juncture where his neck and shoulder meet, instead, Jax's hands were cupping the sides of his face, gently, and staring into his eyes and Juice knew it was different, but so so conditioned, he'd only ducked his head shyly, the half nod that always acknowledged the praise that Jax laid on him, so undeserving as he was. This time, Jax just gave him the barest touch of pressure from his fingertips, coaxing Juice to look back up, and he whispered, "You did good, brother." And the kiss, it was soft on his lips, and it wasn't really any different from before, was it? 

He shoved the thoughts back into the box, the big metal safe he kept in his head, and he spun the wheel tight on that imaginary vault. It was the same and it didn't matter. It didn't matter at all until the day it did, when Jax's voice, low and gravelly as it always was, said something different. "I know you've done a lot today already," he'd said, and Juice had looked away, he'd already boxed up those thoughts and he didn't need to be coddled, he knew what he was doing, but Jax wasn't done. 

"There's just one more thing I need from you," Jax said, and Juice's vision had gone white and quiet as Jax's lips were on his again, and not like ever before, this time, he didn't pull back and away, it went on and on as Jax's hands, braced on either side of his face, kept him perfectly still though he could never have moved himself in that moment. He'd stayed perfectly quiet until Jax was done, his possessive mouth owning Juice thoroughly. 

"Can you do this for me?" Jax had asked, eyes penetrating through Juice's empty gaze, and Juice had nodded slowly, once, then a second time to confirm. For him. Everything Juice did was for him. It's the rules, he'd told himself, trapping the lid back on the panic box and it barely took any effort that time. 

"I can do it," he'd whispered back, and he was proud that his voice didn't catch at all. 

"Good," Jax had said quietly, and then his hands were on Juice's shoulders, pushing him down unrelentingly. Juice sank, folding into himself and possibly into the ground itself, all the way to his knees and then he'd looked up at Jax, eyes clear and unblinking as he watched Jax unclasp his belt, unbutton, unzip. All that undoing and Juice still doesn't know how he never came undone himself. 

This time, he bites down hard on the inside of his mouth, steeling himself for what happens next. He wants to hate it (he does), he doesn't want it to feel good (it does) and he wants it to stop (it won't). Jax's hands on his hips are gentle this time (they aren't always), and he just lets go, lets it all fade away, adrift in his own mind. 

It'll be over someday, he tells himself, and he tells himself again that he can't hear the mocking, shrieking, _laughing_ crow in his head, the one that knows it never will be.


End file.
